


For One Night Only

by CelticInTheAU



Series: One, Two, Three; Not Only You and Me. [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: I have a very dirty mind apparently, Johnlock - Freeform, Johnlockiarty, M/M, Multi, PWP, Sheriarty - Freeform, johnlock (kinda)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-28
Updated: 2014-01-28
Packaged: 2018-01-10 07:44:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1156958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelticInTheAU/pseuds/CelticInTheAU
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>A shiver ran through his body, the sight eerily similar to the one he walked in on earlier that night. </i>
</p><p> </p><p>John Watson thought he knew all the secrets Sherlock Holmes had been hiding. But he didn't expect to find this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For One Night Only

**Author's Note:**

> Basically shameless PWP. Because I could.

Silence filled the rooms of 221B Baker Street as the three men stared at each other. No words were exchanged, but plenty of emotions flickered over their faces. The fact that they were in this position was a surprise to them all, even to the two individuals who know that this day would eventually occur.

“Are you two going to explain yourselves, or are we going to hang around in silence all bloody night?” John Watson’s words cut through the quietness, and the two brunets turned to look at each other. A silent conversation passed between the two consultants, which only served to enrage John further. “Out loud would be fantastic! Not all of us are geniuses with brilliant skills of deductions.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes as he stood, adjusting the sheet that was wrapped around his body. “What does it look like, John?” he asked, trying to school his expression as he heard his companion snigger behind him.

“I can always spell it out for you, if you can’t get there on your own.” The slightly musical lilt of James Moriarty’s voice carried through the room, causing Sherlock to close his eyes and breathe in deeply, and John to seethe, hands clenched into fists.

“Oh, it’s perfectly clear,” John ground out, stepping closer to the undressed duo. “But that’s not my question; my question is ‘why?' And come to think of it, 'how long' would be something else I’d love to know the answer to.”

Sherlock sat back down and rubbed a hand over his face, knowing that this moment had been months in the making. In the back of his mind, he was surprised it had taken so long for them to be caught. They hadn’t been the most careful of people when it came to organising times for their trysts.

John took a seat on his own chair, wondering in the back of his mind if they had ever ‘played’ in it. He had the strangest feeling that the answer was in fact a yes. He was surprised when a wave of arousal shot through him at the thought, and he shifted ever so slightly where he sat. 

Jim caught the movement and chuckled, raising a brow at the doctor as if he knew exactly what was going through his mind. 

John quickly looked away, coughing slightly, much to the Irishman’s amusement.

“It’s exactly as it looks,” Sherlock started, shifting his sheet so that it covered more of his pale skin. “James and I have been engaging in a relationship of a sexual nature for some months now.”

John looked on in stunned silence, almost unable to comprehend what he was just told. Shaking his head, he ran his hands over his face, fingers dragging hard over his skin as he tried to make sense of the information voluntarily offered to him.

“Don’t tell me your poor, needing heart can’t take it,” Jim spoke, shifting his body closer to Sherlock’s.

The detective turned to glare at the other, but his expression softened when he saw the spark in the criminal’s eye. Curiosity now piqued by Moriarty’s words, he turned back to the doctor, brow furrowed as he took in the other’s posture. He worried his lower lip between his teeth as he ran over all the possibilities that Jim’s words could mean.

“Oh, don’t tell me it’s too hard for you to figure out, honey,” Jim drawled, turning to face Sherlock, his hand pressing to the detective’s thigh as his lips pressed to the shell of his ear. “Little Johnny-boy wishes he were me in this scenario… or perhaps it’s your place he wishes to be in – the jury is still out on that particular matter.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened, and he looked between Jim and John, mind calculating whether or not the words the Irishman spoke held any truth. His eyes began to take in the subtle shift in John’s body language, the slight increase in his breathing; the minute dilation of his pupils as the lust slowly took over his body. His tongue came out to wet his lower lip, and Sherlock heard Jim’s chuckle as John visibly shifted in response to the motion.

“I think that you may be right,” Sherlock murmured under his breath, turning back to Jim as his hand reached out for the criminal. “But what to do with the information?”

“Hello? Right here, you know,” John murmured, rolling his eyes at the two consultants. He didn’t bother to deny the fact that watching them tease each other was a turn on – John knew that they’d both see through the lies. But he didn’t want to be there when Sherlock and Moriarty gave into their baser needs – though by the way they were now kissing and groping at each other, their baser needs had already gripped at them.

“I’ll just go then,” he said lowly, getting to his feet. He shook his head at the way his body was reacting to the moans filling the air, and he tried to focus on leaving the room without giving into the need to touch himself. He was so distracted by his own thoughts that he almost missed the drawled-out “join us” that spilled from Jim’s lips.

He turned enough to glance over to the two brunets on the sofa, biting down hard on his lip as he weighed up the options. On one hand, it would be a good release, and who hadn’t dreamed of being in a threesome? Admittedly, John never thought it would be with two other guys, but in the end it was still a threesome. On the other hand, though, it was Sherlock he’d be engaging with – his roommate and best friend. Who knew how much they’d end up regretting this come morning? Add to it the fact that the third participant was none other than James fucking Moriarty, and John knew that no good could come of giving in.

But if it was no good, why did he did he find himself walking over to the tangle of limbs on the sofa? Why was he slowly sinking to his knees, head bowed slightly as he surreptitiously watched as Sherlock and Jim kissed – wet, open mouthed, and positively filthy.

The detective groaned as he heard the doctor approach them, and his hands worked to tug the blanket away from Jim’s body as they kissed, the Irishman controlling the depth the whole time.

“I told you, didn’t I?” Jim spoke as he pulled back from Sherlock, fingers holding his chin in place as brown eyes met grey.

Sherlock made a noise of agreement as his hand trailed up the criminal’s bare leg, his fingertips brushing over the crease of thigh and groin.

Jim’s eyes fluttered as he took in a shaky breath, hand tightening on Sherlock’s chin slightly, before he turned to look at John. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

Sherlock’s eyes widened slightly – Jim never normally gave their third (when he invited one along) a choice, but perhaps the man was becoming slightly more human.

John looked up as he thought over the question, eyes darting from one consultant to the other, taking in the expressions on their faces – Sherlock’s surprised, Jim’s lust-filled – and the way they held their bodies. He couldn’t help the way his eyes trailed down the lengths of bare flesh, and a fresh wave of desire shot through John as he slowly nodded, swallowing hard as he tried to conjure up the words.

“Yes,” he finally said, voice gravelly with need.

Jim nodded, fingers finally releasing Sherlock’s chin as he reached out for the blogger, his free hand tracing patterns over the detective’s bare thigh.

Licking his lips, John leaned into the touch Jim bestowed on his cheek, his instincts making him turn his face and press a kiss to the centre of the man’s palm. Smiling slightly as he heard someone’s breath catch, John took things one step further, shifting so that he could take Jim’s thumb between his lips, teeth dragging over the pad before he sucked lightly on it, cheering in his mind as he heard the half-moan.

“Enough,” Jim ground out as he pulled his hand away, shaking his head at the doctor. “I’m in charge here, understand?” He grinned wide as he saw the nod of agreement. “Good. Now move to Sherlock’s bedroom, strip, and wait for us on the bed.”

John nodded – unsure if he were allowed to speak – and got to his feet, jumping slightly as he felt someone slap his rear. Closing his eyes and breathing deeply, John continued on his path to the bedroom, before setting about fulfilling Jim’s orders.

On the sofa, Jim looked at Sherlock carefully as they listened to the doctor move about.

“Are you okay with this?” the Irishman asked, voice no louder than a whisper as he cupped the detective’s face in his hands. Many would say that James Moriarty was a heartless man who never gave care for anyone but himself. But the truth was that he did care – in his own, unique way – about Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock closed his eyes as he leaned into the touch. He was unsure if this – adding John to the mix – was a good idea. What if things got too complicated after? He’d be out of a perfectly good flatmate, and the one, genuine, solid friendship in his life would be ruined. But perhaps this could end up helping to strengthen their relationship – offer an insight that they both needed. A small smile grew over Sherlock’s lips and he opened his eyes, meeting Jim’s gaze. “I’m sure,” he answered, before leaning in for a soft kiss.

“So very sure, my king.”

The Irishman smiled at the other, using his hands to pull Sherlock’s lips back to his; a kiss that conveyed emotions neither of them were willing to say out loud.

Pulling away from Jim, Sherlock bit at his lower lip, almost bashful. Shaking his head, he leaned back in for another kiss, before getting to his feet. Taking his lover by the hand, Sherlock led him back into his bedroom, sheet still half-draped over his form as they moved.

As soon as they set foot in the room, Jim’s eyes sought out the bed, where John was sitting, naked and waiting patiently.

“Very good, Watson,” he hummed, approaching the bed and reaching out to run his fingers through the blond’s short hair.

John stiffened slightly beneath the touch, still struggling with the fact that it was Moriarty touching him; standing before him naked as the day he was born – though he would never admit out loud that he swore the consulting criminal came out of the womb in a perfectly pressed Westwood suit.

“Now, now. Relax, dear Watson,” Jim murmured, leaning in to press a harsh, lingering kiss to his lips.

Sherlock let out a soft whine as he, too, sunk onto the bed. He made a point not to touch John – not until Jim said he was allowed to.

Smiling at both the men on the bed, Jim watched them through hooded eyes, clearly thinking over the next move to make. A low hum fell from his lips before he blinked and focused fully on them.

“Can I trust you both to behave?”

Sherlock gave a gentle nod as John looked up at Jim, before slowly nodding himself.

A lazy grin spread over the Irishman’s lips, before he finally joined the others on the bed. One hand cupped the back of Sherlock’s neck, tugging him in for a kiss that was all teeth and tongues, while the other glided slowly up John’s leg, fingers light and teasing as he tried to gain some kind of reaction from the other. Smirking at the noise that left John’s lips, Jim pulled away from his lover, pressing a parting kiss to his lips, before advancing on John.

“My, my, Mr. Watson. Such a good boy you are,” he spoke slowly as he leaned in, breath ghosting over the doctor’s lips, “Almost gives my pet a run for his money.”

Sherlock let out a long, loud whine as he watched the criminal and the blogger kiss, shifting on the bed as he tried his hardest not to reach out and grab for his lover.

 _He’s mine,_ a voice in his head growled, and Sherlock was surprised at the ferocity and the need to take the Irishman away from John. Jim Moriarty belonged to Sherlock Holmes – and possibly one other, but he wasn’t there with them.

Parting from the doctor with a sigh, Jim turned to Sherlock, shaking his head as he whispered, “You’ll always be my favourite.”

Sherlock smiled widely, lying back on the bed when Jim gave him the signal to do so.

“Would my pet like me to fuck him?” The criminal drawled, eyes closing and teeth gritting as he heard John scoff. “Do you have something to say, Watson?”

“Pet? Really, Sherlock? I would have thought you to better than to be someone’s pet, especially Moriarty’s.”

Neither John nor Sherlock saw what was coming next: Jim’s hand connected with the side of John’s face, and the crack that accompanied it reverberated around the room.

“You don’t ever question the relationship I have with Sherlock; understand?” He waited until John nodded before he continued, “Just for that, I’m changing the plans for tonight. Go sit in the chair, and under no circumstances are you to touch yourself.”

John sighed, but tilted his head down in assent. He supposed that he deserved what he received, after all. Pulling himself off the bed, he stalked over to the chair and folded himself into it. Breathing in deeply, he waited for the calm to settle over his body, before he returned to watching the two consultants, wondering what would happen next, and just how much it would affect him.

Crawling over the detective, Jim bracketed his arms around Sherlock’s head, pressing their hips tight together as his lips found the hollow of the Englishman’s throat.

The gasp that left Sherlock’s lips had John’s length throbbing, and it took all the willpower he could muster not to take himself into hand. His eyes remained trained on the duo on the bed, scared that if he looked away for even a moment, he would miss seeing something downright amazing.

Sherlock’s pale body arched into Jim’s touch, and he sought to gain more of it. A gasp of surprise – accompanied by a deep moan from John – left the detective’s lips as Jim’s mouth slowly moved down his body; it was clear what was about to happen. That didn’t stop the broken cry that left Sherlock as Jim wrapped his lips around the head of Sherlock’s cock.

Smirking around the turgid flesh, Jim looked up at Sherlock’s face as he took more of him into his mouth. His hand wrapped around the base of the length, squeezing to reduce the need Sherlock felt to come – after their interrupted play earlier, he knew the man would be teetering on the edge. Jim’s free hand slipped between pert cheeks, fingertips gliding around the detective’s entrance, and he grinned around the thickness in his mouth. _Still stretched from earlier; perfect._

Shifting slightly in the chair, John re-angled his body so that he could see more of the activities that were happening over on the bed. His mouth went dry at the sight of Jim pleasuring his flatmate with his mouth as his fingers worked the man open. A shiver ran through his body, the sight eerily similar to the one he walked in on earlier that night. He was so caught up in reading the pleasure on Sherlock’s face that he failed to hear the next set of instructions fall from Jim’s lips.

“Watson!” The criminal barked out once more, his hand having replaced his mouth on Sherlock’s cock as the fingers within the detective curled to press against his prostate. “Over here, now!”

The doctor scrambled to his feet and moved over to the scene on the bed, soon pressing himself into the place indicated with a nod from the man in charge.

Without giving John a second glance, the Irishman removed his hands from the Sherlock and wrapped his legs tight around his waist, the head of his cock nudging at the detective’s entrance.

A low moan simultaneously spilled from all three men as Jim thrust in, Sherlock’s body arching off the bed at the intrusion.

The detective’s hands scrabbled to find purchase on Jim’s body, clumsily pulling him down for a kiss as he became lost in the sensations. Wet, filthy kisses were exchanged, before Jim pushed Sherlock flat on his back against the mattress, both hands flying to grip his hips tightly.

“John,” Jim growled, looking over to the blond who was gripping the sheets in a feeble attempt to not touch himself. A smirk spread across his lips at the fact and he shook his head, before coming back to his previous thought. “I want you to take our darling Sherlock into your mouth, and suck him until he comes.”

The two flatmates moaned in unison, and John gave a swift nod before rearranging himself so that he could do as instructed. It wasn’t the easiest of tasks, what with Jim’s erratic thrusting into Sherlock, but the doctor curled his hand around the base of the detective’s cock as his lips pressed a gentle kiss to the tip. Pulling back, they shone lightly with the detective’s pre-come, a sight that proved impossible for Jim to simply ignore.

Removing one hand from Sherlock’s hip, Jim thread his fingers through John’s short hair, tugging him up so that he could lick the glistening liquid off the doctor’s lips. Pulling away once the tang that was Sherlock teased his tastebuds, Jim dove in to kiss John, hips not faltering in their rhythm.

Sherlock moaned as he watched the two through hooded eyes, his head rolling back as Jim found that spot within him that made him see stars. A whine left his lips, which caused the two above him to part, Jim smirking as his eyes flicked back to Sherlock, John quickly returning to his task of bringing Sherlock to the edge of pure ecstasy.

Fingers tightening to an almost bruising grip against Sherlock’s hips, Jim’s other hand sought out John’s neglected cock. He palmed the tip where pre-come was oozing almost copiously, before using it as lubrication as he stroked the doctor.

John’s moans were muffled by the flesh in his mouth, pulling cries from Sherlock as he writhed beneath Jim and the blogger.

“So close,” he choked out as the pressure of Jim thrusting against his prostate and the suction of John’s lips around him became almost too much. “Oh – Please, Jim!”

Letting out a growl, the criminal snapped his hips faster, hand leaving John’s length to hold the detective in place as he was driven closer to orgasm.

“Ask properly, pet.”

Tossing his head back as his whole body arched, Sherlock pushed himself deeper into John’s mouth as he struggled to hold on; to stop the knot snapping.

 “Please, my king.”

Jim gave an almost imperceptible nod, before his hand dove into John’s hair, pulling him back so that he barely had the detective in his mouth.

 “Yes, pet, you may.”

Sherlock’s vision whited out as he let the ecstasy overtake his body, leaving him shuddering and shaking beneath the other two men.

The criminal watched it all with rapt attention – John pulled off Sherlock just as the first pulse of his release spilled from him, landing partially on his lips. The rest of the detective’s come striped over John’s chin and hand as Jim continued to fuck him through it.

Suddenly hit with inspiration as he dragged his tongue over his lower lip, John grabbed for Jim and captured his mouth, sharing Sherlock’s release between them.

The detective fell slack against the bed, sleepy eyes watching the exchange. A hum of a moan left him, causing them to break apart.

Feeling his own climax fast approaching, Jim’s hand returned to John’s throbbing, weeping cock, giving it a few harsh tugs as his own continued to delve into Sherlock’s over-sensitive body.

“Your turn, Watson; come for us.”

It was as if John had been waiting for the command from the moment he stripped naked. With the pressure of the Irishman’s hand, the taste of Jim's lips and Sherlock’s release lingering on his tongue both coupled with the sound of flesh hitting flesh, John’s eyes squeezed shut as his breathing came in short and quiet gasps, before he spilled into Jim’s hand, hard and long.

Grunting as Sherlock took his come-stained hand to his lips, Jim’s hips faltered as he chased down his own end. Eyes flicking to Sherlock’s in a silent question, he saw the detective give a slight nod in response. Pulling out, he quickly stroked himself until his release hit, spurting over Sherlock’s stomach and chest, growling, “Mine.”

Slipping off the bed while the consultants came down from their high, John moved into the bathroom where he grabbed a flannel, wetting it down before cleaning himself up. Rinsing it quickly, he returned to the bedroom, a small smile creeping onto his face as he saw Jim and Sherlock curled up, a pure tangle of limbs. Shaking his head, he moved over to them and carefully cleaned them up, muttering a quiet “thank you”, before turning away.

“You’re welcome; but note that this is _never_ happening again.” The sleep-thickened Irish drawl pierced through the room, and John chuckled, pausing at the door to the bedroom.

 

“Trust me, I understood that before stepping into the bedroom.”


End file.
